


Tilted Kilt

by beautifullyheeled



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, First Time, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is curious, John is willing. Sherlock begins to find out the most wonderful things about not only John, but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

 

"First time and it tasted like honey,  
I'm hooked, yeah, you know you got me,  
Here I am, back again.

Close my eyes and it feels like summer,  
I know I shouldn't, but I know I'm gonna,  
Here we go, kiss me slow.

And I know you're bad,  
Yeah, I know you knock over me  
I'm aware of that,  
And the only one that's gonna be  
Sleepless at night and pay the price will be me.

But sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet.  
Wish I never had let him take it over,  
I'm in too deep.  
See, there is no better other way to describe it,  
I know it's bad for me,  
But sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet.

My whole world changed from the moment I met you,  
Shame on me, my mama told me better,  
Here I am, back again.

You call and you know I'm coming  
I can't leave even if I'm wanting,  
Here we go, kiss me slow.

And I know you're bad,  
Yeah, I know you knock over me  
I'm aware of that,  
And the only one that's gonna be  
Sleepless at night and pay the price will be me.

But sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet.  
Wish I never had let him take it over,  
I'm in too deep.  
See, there is no better other way to describe it,  
I know it's bad for me,  
But sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet.

You got me, you got me,  
And I don't want a signal and leave you alone,  
Can't seem to let go.  
You got me, you got me  
And I don't want a signal and leave you alone,  
Can't seem to let go.

'Cause sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet.  
Wish I never had let him take it over,  
I'm in too deep.  
See, there is no better other way to describe it,  
I know it's bad for me,  
But sugar still taste like sugar,  
It's still sweet."

Sugar~Leona Lewis

* * *

 

They had gone to the festival because John had insisted on getting out of  London.

 

* * *

 

“…and not because of a case.” That rang in Sherlock’s ears quite resoundingly. So, he obliged his flat-mate and after a mock-fight told him to book where he saw fit for them to go. He was hoping that, since it was John planning the holiday that it would at least be mildly interesting. The man understood how bored Sherlock could get if left to his own devices.

It wasn’t intentional.

He simply could not shut down. Never had been able too so he did the only thing he could; throw himself into the Work. It was everything for a very long time. People were living breathing entities, some he bothered to save their name, most he did not. Sometimes they would get upset for him using another’s name, but they should know if they were saved that they were all important. It meant they weren’t deleted. They held an infinitesimal sliver of the Work in their place in his life. Then his professor that he enjoyed discussions in decomposition of water-bound bodies with brought someone to him. He was tan, fit, and very readable, yet not. Interesting is what he was.

It was true, John had continued to amaze him by not being put-off by Sherlock; even more he complemented his mind. He believed in the Work. He forced him to take notice of his transport and slowly drew him into the world of the living. John forced him to pay attention. At least four percent at all times was working on the enigma, listening and categorizing, watching John. During cases, one percent, but the Work was always priority.

That was before the pool.

Now John took up much more than that. He stopped quantifying it after that night. He knows that somehow, he has worked John into the main lattice-base and merged seamlessly integrating himself neatly into everything. It was all the Work and all John.

Simultaneously.

Sherlock found small niches where there were graying perimeters of knowledge that he immediately began trying to rectify. The first was John’s hands. His well-used work callused and sturdy hands. Surgeon’s hands. Healer hands. Supple if endeared and worried. Harsh if angered or maddened. John took very good care of his hands.

Then there was his stubble. Sherlock only glimpsed it every great once in awhile. It intrigued him. He had to touch it; had to know. One morning, John had come down before his shower for tea, as he does very rarely. He was in his boxers, thinning t-shirt from Bart’s he had hung on to, and his robe. It was irresistible to him, John would understand. Knowledge, pursuit, and the small surge he was experiencing of adrenalin, possibly dopamine. Yes, he would understand.

Sherlock rounded the table and pinned John to the counter still facing the kettle he had set to boil. Without a word, he brought one hand to his friend’s hip to still him, the other to the slightly darkened jaw-line of his John. For he was his now wasn’t he? To explore? He had taken over everything of Sherlock. Surely he knew and was just as curious to explore the gaps in his knowledge of Sherlock as well.

“…Sher-”

“Quiet John.”

“…but…”

“I said quiet I have to know…”

John’s jaw did not feel rough. No. Instead it felt slightly softened. Hmm…had to be the Scot in his bloodline. It felt slightly like something woolen if grazed, but roughened with a true touch. Marvelous. That is when Sherlock noticed the shift in the air around them. John smelled differently in the morning as well.

“…Sherlock. Reall-”

“John. Hush.”

Leaning in toward John, he stopped a few scant millimeters away from the shell of his ear and inhaled. Bergamot, cinnamon, crushed leaves, fall, warmth, fire, marshmallows, jumpers, warmth, John.

“Home.”

Impetuously, he tipped a very chaste kiss to John’s hollow behind his pinking ear. Licking his lips he tasted the evidence they had received. Salty, warm, everything almost maple with the addition of John’s base pheromones.

“Lovely. John.”

John shifted, Sherlock did not care why. He pressed into him more gripping his hip more firmly with his long fingers. Not very much give as John is more muscular than most know. Sherlock knows though and does not take for granted that his doctor has chosen to stay relaxed but is erring on the side of caution as well. Quietly growling out of frustration beside John’s ear, Sherlock causes him to shiver unexpectedly.

“Stay. Still. Now.”

“I will stay still when you tell me what the hell you are on about you madman!” John, ruffled, places his hands on the counter gripping the edge. He huffs a breath as well and this causes a small chuckle from Sherlock.

“Impatient John. Hold still, please.” Sherlock amended quickly to curry favor with the man under his studious cataloguing. This was swiftly becoming a moral imperative, he had to know if other places were the same concentration, or different perhaps. His hair under his arms and pubis most definitely would catalogue differently, of that Sherlock had no doubt, but what about his shoulder? His neck along his hairline? His collar where his shirt met his clavicle? Would it be different due to the detergent that had rubbed that spot during the night? Maybe John did not wear the shirt to bed and pulled it on for modesty sake before he sleepily descended the stairs.

“I have to know…”

Closing the gap again beside John’s neck he breathed on the exposed skin then gently touched with the tip of his tongue tracing a small pattern before retracting it back to savor the olfactory wonder he was experiencing.

“You are…ephemeral.”

Dipping again, he explores the space between the shell of John’s ear to the curve of his jaw running it along the slight roughness the sensation reminding him of something akin to a cat’s tongue. He notices John’s pulse, and closes his lips to place a chaste kiss where the life sustaining rhythm is encased.

“Sherlock. Please.”

Taking that as an ascent to continue the trailing exploration, Sherlock smiles at his wonderful friend, following the line of his carotid almost to the suprasternal notch but settling for the side of his ‘adam’s apple’ instead  which was just as pleasing as the texture and tautness of skin was different here. Stretched over his larynx, not fleshy, especially as his head was now tilted back resting on Sherlock.

He decides to bring his left hand back up toward John’s face, grazing up his side then changing direction to move around to the front of John’s chest laying his hand upon his heart, his long fingers splayed along the width of his collar. He can feel the scar beneath his fingers that beg to touch the wound. It’s still new to John, which is why he is modest. This only happened at the beginning of last fall. Oh, Sherlock should have thought of this before and was saddened he had almost missed the important date. He always had in the back of his mind the last week in October, when John had gotten transferred out of the war zone once he was stable, but the Day was fast approaching.

“Cor, Sher-”

He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence. Sherlock wheeled him around in his arms another form of education found wanting, and without second-guessing he claimed John’s mouth for his own. Kissing greedily, nibbling in entreaty gentle words murmur from him meant to soothe, to enlighten. His hands taking a mind of their own they begin to wander above the clothes as to not upset the man in his arms, no he would be tempered as well. Wrapping his arms about John’s waist, he quiets and deepens their kiss in askance he has to know everything now.

“Yes, John, We will not miss the train. I promised holiday and holiday shall you receive.”

Once again pulling him back into his mouth, John begins kissing him back felating his tongue taking Sherlock’s deeply into his own. With that he grips John grinding himself into John’s lower abdomen barely caressing the doctor’s with his thigh. Sherlock dips his hands into the back of John’s boxers and is met with a surprise, he has pants on. Very snug, and they have an intricate pattern to them. While kissing John within an inch of his life Sherlock is able to see the pattern mentally now even though he does not yet have a color, he would guess darker.

“OH, John. I must see you.”

“I don’t know…this is private Sherlock.”

“No it is not. It has to do with you therefore it has to do with me. I must know!”

With that Sherlock breaks their rising pique and pulls John to his room to lay him artfully on his bed. He is filled with wonder to see this strong, caring man trust him so his eyes soft slightly glassy from the haze of arousal. Running his hands up John’s thighs he reaches the bottom hem of his boxers and pulls dragging them down.

“Lovely.”

Sherlock stares worshipfully. He has found John’s one guilty pleasure, lace. Masterfully made lace briefs to be exact. Low slung exactly mimicking ladies bikini cut except the front at one point had enough to allow for John in a relaxed state, but this is something entirely different. This is another area where the Scot shows. The height and the softer stubble are all parts to the puzzle, but this is a glorious surprise. Sitting beside John, he tentatively trails with his index finger along the semi-erect length.

“My God, John. You are quite beautiful.”

He couldn’t help but to stare. Very well endowed, Sherlock knew, when John reached his full rigidity that his thickness would be something to be reckoned with. The play of the lace, the filmy rose pattern that was so delicate was such juxtaposition to the strength, both physical and internal, that Sherlock knew without a shadow of a doubt, existed.

Longing overtaking him, Sherlock bends open mouthed and presses his hot breath and tongue into the material followed by his lips. His teeth nip at the pattern as he sucks through the material tasting the middle of John. Laving his way along to the smallest peek of his bulbous glans as it begs for release from the foreskin weeping ever so slightly. Sherlock flicks with the tip of his tongue where the glands and moisture lie finally tasting John.

Intrinsic, melodious, superlative John. Oh, he would compose whole symphonies for this man. Resting his cheek at John’s navel, he breathes over the head once again watching it shudder with a mind of its own. Marvelous.

“Sherlock, have you done this before?” John asks as he strokes his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. The younger seems so enraptured John isn’t sure if it’s due to inexperience or shyness.

“Both John; both.”

“Well lovey, the question is do you want to experiment now and possibly miss the train, or throw ourselves together and enjoy ourselves in the private sleeper on the way to Cornwall. I’ll keep these on if you like, yea?” His voice is gravely with need, but he has nothing left to hide from Sherlock, hadn’t really for awhile. Propping on elbows, he smiles at the sight he has been gifted with.

“I’d like to take our time John. Could you wait?” Nuzzling into the doctor, Sherlock purred softly enjoying the warm texture of the soft line of hair against his cheek. He begins leaving very light kisses around where he can reach before looking the other way towards John’s face sharing a rare carefree smile with him.

“Anything Sherlock. Anything…”


	2. Everything is Transport

"we're gonna be waiting for a long time, but it'll be worth it when we find what we find.

and we won't be frightened and we won't be nervous.

it'll be perfect and right.

we'll find god in our lover's arms.

we find god in our lover's arms. 

we're gonna be healing for a long time, but we won't be sleepless and we'll get better each night.

'cause we're not afraid of dying.

we're afraid of one day never to die.

you set your heart out in the graveyard. go get your heart back from the great beyond. 

and your milk tastes like _ and your wrists smell of peppermint.

i know you carry your sadness on your back like a tortoise as protection.

and you sleep with your blanket that you found on the pavement and you cling to it.

and you wanna be righteous and you wanna find god but nothing's come yet.

but i've read your stars in a mason jar and you'll make love in the backyard.

we'll find god in our lover's arms.

we'll redefine god as something that we want.  
redefine god as something you want."  
Lovers ~ Peppermint

* * *

 

They reached the train at Paddington station and embarked swiftly finding their accommodations. It would only be a five hour trip, but in the quiet compartment, it would as if no time passed at all.

As the two sat and talked, John holding Sherlock comfortably in his arms. A quiet type of peace had descended around them. It was nice from the generally frenetic pace they had been exposed to as of late. John especially was contented on the pure calm that was wrapped around Sherlock. He had never witnessed anything like it before. It was almost as a key had turned and opened him up in the most marvelous of ways.

John reached across his chest and played with the loose curls covering Sherlock’s face from view. It made him smile to see his friend this way. Kissing the crown of his hair he nuzzled his face lightly in the dark almost black auburn hair. Lover, John amended in his thread of thoughts. Yes, lover. Very soon.

“Sherlock, how much experience do you have? With this?”

“Honestly, John very little. Never was important. I knew how to pleasure myself, so why seek others to bring into my bed, or worse have them expect me to enter theirs?”

“Well, that will be our starting point then, yea?”

Tipping Sherlock’s face, John claimed his lips sweetly sweeping his fingers across his cheek back into his hair cradling his intellect within his two hands. Humming with satisfaction he teases with the promise of knowledge of simple touches and eased desires; nothing to complex just yet. Instead John left the trail to be followed at their leisure, guiding Sherlock just to it for him to make the choice.

“Whatever you need, I’m okay. Alright?”

“I need you, John. Just you. Everything else will fall into place I am sure.”

“Yea. Just so.”

“What if I want?” Sherlock asked, drawing out the word playfully.

“Well we have three and a half hours until we reach Cornwall, if you would like to explore a little lovey; or I could do the exploring?”

John breathed ghosting the words across Sherlock’s ear. He could feel him tense for exactly one heartbeat which made John smile. To be able to frisson the great Sherlock Holmes, damn fine it was. He did that; was going to do it again.

“Al-right John.”

“Let’s get our shoes off and lose a few layers shall we?”

They had already begun to get warm enough to feel just on the over-warm side in the enclosed room. As much as John looked forward to opening these doors for them both, he wanted neither of them overheated or feeling constricted in their clothing; especially Sherlock. He could just see the right pique the detective could possibly get into if physically feeling bogged down by his clothing or impatient over a reveal that might be slightly impeded by the friction of their clothing. No, John decided, the clothes must mostly go.

After a few moments of quick change, John was down to his undershirt and other undergarments. He had stopped Sherlock and kept him in his cerulean shirt and trousers only having him lose his jacket, socks and shoes. He didn’t want him feeling too exposed quite yet. Having him lie first, John sidled over him and took the side against the wall to give him a better vantage point and stability for his left side if needed. He knew he had a good ten minutes to divest the rest of Sherlock’s attire and was going to use every second of it unwrapping and savoring. To show the man beside him that he was a great and precious boon that had been placed into John’s life.

“John, I’m not some spun sugar creation. I’m not going to break.”

“I know. This morning showed me that…but I want to show you how it could be. Nuzzle you…make love to you Sherlock.” Lightly tracing his face with the back of his hand he allowed it to trail down along Sherlock’s throat causing a lazy trail along his chest to his right hip where it steadied. “Take hours; wile them away getting to know you.”

Sherlock went hazy for a few scant seconds before looking at John; then resting his hand against the doctor’s face pulled him down to kiss his ascent. For a second time John’s pride was bolstered in the knowledge that Sherlock trusted him implicitly. 

* * *

 

He removed the thin silver packet from the floor and worked it in his hand for a moment.

“I’m just heating it lovey, I’m right with you.”

John kissed Sherlock quite sweetly as he trailed his hand gingerly down his body. He knew the man partially pined by him was going to be a hellion once excited, and as much as John looked forward to that, he hoped he could turn that emotional tide toward something more honest yet just as consuming.

“Sherlock, you just have to tell me alright. I’m in this with you.”

Sliding over to press fully on Sherlock, John smiles at him. He works the first button open to a gasp of surprise, the second to a soft thud of hair upon pillow, the third to a soft catch of moan in Sherlock’s flexed throat. He loved the taste of the bespoke button down in his mouth; the feel of the buttons that were hard and slightly slippery due to his saliva. When John growled back deep in assent, Sherlock answered.

“Gods you are beautiful.”

“I’m not even naked John,” Sherlock breathily replied. “And while I may be ascetically pleasing to some, I do not believe that beau-”

John swiftly moved his hand to cover Sherlock’s mouth.

“Hush, Sherlock. You  _are_  beautiful; your mind and your body. So please  _do_  shut it before I tie something into that perfect mouth of yours and we both lose benefit of it other than me hearing your muffled cries.”

With that, John returned to the task at hand with returned determination. John finished the remaining two buttons with a flourish as he pulled the soft fabric out and away from Sherlock’s prone torso rubbing the sensitive skin and very slight trail of soft hair with his cheek. Laying it on the warm expanse between his hips momentarily before dragging his gaze up along his lover’s body to meet Sherlock’s warm yet keen eyes; capturing them John places a damp open mouthed kiss just to the left of the fastener of Sherlock’s trousers and grinning wickedly.

Taking the very tip of his tongue, John decides to tease and runs it along the slightly loose barrier of the fabric at Sherlock’s hips gripping tightly canting them slightly toward the doctor. Sherlock acquiesces instantly, closing his eyes with a pleasing hum against the lovely sensation. Using his mouth yet again, John unfastens and opens the fabric, pulling first one side and then the other apart and down slightly to expose the finely crafted grey pants and their barely covered contents.

“Holy Mother!” John whispered in inhaled exclamation. Moving his hands down to work the trousers down to just under the curve of Sherlock’s arse he leaned his mouth forward again to blow hot breath over the sweet spot of pre-ejaculate that changed the fabric from dove grey to deepening charcoal. Wrapping his teeth lightly to the spot he kneads with his front teeth worrying the prepuce and slightly flaring frenulum through the fabric mimicking Sherlock’s earlier ministrations causing him to arch himself further into the unrelenting play.

“Oh, you taste marvelous, don’t you lovey. Want to be in my mouth, yea?”

“That would be…Fuck! F-fortuitous I believe…in this situation.” taking a second longer than it should to put words together, Sherlock grinds out the rest hurriedly.

“Fortuitous? Oh so  _your_  good fortune has brought us here. Well let me share how fortunate _I_  feel with you…”

Taking one of the small foil packets from his cargo pocket, John looks darkly at Sherlock as he tears one of the corners then uses his teeth to exude the surgical grade lubricant on to his outstretched fingertips. Spitting the packet away onto the floor, he resumes hotly kissing the fabric moving more southerly towards the crest of Sherlock’s exposed thigh laving attention between flesh and seam as he rolls his fingers together. Reaching his neck forward again he grabs the fabric with his teeth and withdraws it enough for Sherlock’s preeminent cock to bobble released from its fabric prison as his balls are slung over the band as well pulling them tight against the base.

John slides until his knees hit the wall behind him to give him more maneuverability. Pushing his tongue into Sherlock’s foreskin John is rewarded with a sharp bark of emotion that tears from his lover’s throat. Pulling the rest of the head into his mouth he begins sucking and plying the foreskin adding words like fall, holly oak, crisp honeycomb to his descriptions of the man beneath him. As he keeps Sherlock busy working him further into his mouth he pulls back the fabric stretched taught at Sherlock’s perineum and gently begins smoothing the lubrication from there to the cleft each pass fluttering just past Sherlock’s anus.

“Stop. Titting. About. John, please, for all that is Holy!”

“Nope. Still too much talking.” John moves, yanking off his boxers willy-nilly one handed, balls them up, and swiftly stuffs them into Sherlock’s mouth. 

“I told you to shut it.” John returned to the glorious cock before him placing his hand back into the rhythm previously set. Rocking his index finger along the precious line he rolls the pad of the finger circling the tight entrance before going back and adding the crossing friction yet again. Feeling Sherlock give up control John exalts as his lover finally begins relaxing into his careful touch. Adding pressure, the next time he circles John does not relent with the thrust as he ratchets up the earnestness of his mouth as well. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> This is an ongoing fic that I am very happy to write. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy everything our gents discover about love and the human condition.


End file.
